


Apollo's Lyre: Uncensored Insert

by paperandsong



Series: Leroux Inserts [2]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Curses, Dark Comedy, F/M, Français | French, Italiano | Italian, One Shot, Prawns, Svenska | Swedish, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperandsong/pseuds/paperandsong
Summary: Christine and Raoul sit under Apollo and trash talk Erik in multiple languages. It’s meant to be funny, but I do apologize if you find yourself offended on Erik’s behalf.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Series: Leroux Inserts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110866
Comments: 22
Kudos: 22





	Apollo's Lyre: Uncensored Insert

**Author's Note:**

> All text in italics is from Leroux’s own Apollo's Lyre chapter, taken from the A. Teixeira de Mattos English translation. Canon insert, canon-compliant scene, non-canon compliant language.

“ _...That was the state of mind in which Erik found me. After giving three taps on the wall, he walked in quietly through a door which I had not noticed and which he left open. He had his arms full of boxes and parcels and arranged them on the bed, in a leisurely fashion, while I overwhelmed him with abuse and called upon him to take off his mask, if it covered the face of an honest man -_ ”  
“Wait,” Raoul interrupted. “What kind of abuse?”  
“What?” Christine asked sharply.  
“You said you ‘overwhelmed him with abuse.’ Well, what kind of abuse?” Raoul pulled out a small silver flask from the inside pocket of his coat and took a sip. “What did you say to him?”  
“I - I said,” she stuttered. “Why does it matter?”  
Raoul snorted.   
“I just want to know?” He shrugged.  
“I said, ‘You will kindly release me this instant!’”  
Raoul laughed.  
“That’s all?”  
“And then I said, ‘I find you despicable and not a gentleman.’”  
“Christine,” Raoul groaned. “That wouldn’t overwhelm a feather-duster.”   
“And then, I said - ” she paused to modestly cover her mouth with her hand, and she whispered, “‘Go to hell!’”  
“That’s a little better, I guess,” he muttered, disappointed. “Honestly, Christine. I expected more from you. I know what I would say if someone tried to pull this on me. I would tell him to fuck right off and I would smash his masked face in with my fist!”  
“Oh, why don’t you finish the story then? Tell me about how you would defend yourself against a man a head taller than you, who had just proven his exceptional strength by dragging you down five floors of the Opera house against your will.”  
A whisper on the evening breeze echoed her words, “Exceptional strength!”   
“Did you hear that?” Raoul asked, looking behind him.   
“I didn’t hear anything. Go on Raoul, tell me your version of the story. Tell me about how you would fare so much better than I. Next you will ask me what I was wearing!”  
“Well?” Raoul asked blithely.   
She leapt to her feet in fury, to stand over him and wag her finger at him.  
“I will tell you then, Monsieur le Vicomte de Chier. I will tell you what I told that monster! I said,   
‘Quel BRANLEUR! Wanker!’ At first, he ignored me. He continued to arrange all those parcels on the bed as if he could not hear me or even see my hand waving in his face. I continued, ‘Qu’est-ce que tu branles? What kind of fuckery is this? Abducting me and locking me up here like a madman!’   
Then he turned to me and again professed his love for me. To which I said, ‘Ta gueule! Shut your ugly trap. Casse-toi! Fuck off - I’m tried of looking at your skinny self, you and your ugly mask. Va te faire enculer!’ I took the parcels from the bed and tore them apart before throwing them to the floor and stamping my foot upon their remains.”  
“That’s better, Christine!” Raoul laughed.  
“Such ingratitude!” the shadow whispered.  
Christine continued,  
“He made no effort to leave as I had demanded of him. He stood there silently as I berated him. Do you know how infuriating it is to throw hot rage at someone who accepts it so coldly? I began to see red. A vein throbbed in my eye - I could actually see it pulsing in time with the beating of my heart.   
When French was not enough, I reached back to my time at the CONSERVATOIRE. Back to all the time I spent studying the works of the Italian masters. That language took control of my tongue and I said to him,  
‘PORCA MISERIA! Vaffanculo! You cannot keep me here. You will let me go at once or I will throw curses upon your entire family. A fanabla, uomo demone! To hell with you, demon, you and your weak-ass ancestors. Li mortacci tua!’ To which he sighed and looked very bored. I could see that Italian would not work. Not knowing anything about his family, I could sense right away that he did not care very much about them or defending their honor.   
But I was always very close to my family - the little of it that I had. My mind took me deeper into my childhood, to memories of my father cursing lightly in our native language. When he might have uttered ‘JÄRNSPIKAR!’ if he stubbed his thumb and I happened to be nearby. Or the stronger ‘Helvete djävla skit!’ he would shout when a string snapped while he was tuning his violin and he happened to think I was out of earshot. I said, ‘Djävla skitstovel! Fucking asshole!’ And he flinched. Swedish can be scary when done right. Encouraged, I spat, ‘Djävla kuksugare!’   
And then, it was as if the hand of Odin himself pressed down upon my forehead and took me back to my primordial beginnings and out of my mouth poured the curses of my Viking ancestors. I said to him,   
‘Child born of a long dead sow, go back to her rotting teat and choke on it.’”  
“Damn, Christine!”   
A sigh of ennui slipped out of the shadows, which both Christine and Raoul ignored. She took a deep breath. She was only just beginning. Raoul handed her his flask and she received it thirstily. She took a long swig and then spit it back out in a wide spray of red.  
“Raoul, what is this fucking shit!” she demanded.   
“That’s disgusting, Christine!”  
“What is disgusting is what you have in this here flask!” She scrunched up her face as she held the flask up towards the great bronze Apollo who looked down upon them as if from heaven. If she saw two glowing eyes staring out at her from behind the statue, she made no such acknowledgement. “What is this, cherry cordial? This is what twelve year old ballet-girls hide and drink between scenes. You really are a fop, aren’t you Raoul? Don’t you drink whiskey like an adult?”  
“You don’t like my drink, then give it back. Please, continue.”  
“Even my fiercest Swedish abuse did nothing to move him. He stood there, as cold as stone. While I know for certain that he is quite an intelligent man, well traveled, well read, and fluent in many languages, I could see that he did not fully grasp the nature of my native curses. So I returned to our common language. I said to him,   
‘Let me go or I will gouge your eyes out with my little SCISSORS here and spit in the empty sockets of your ugly masked head!’   
And when I said this, a wave of SORROW seemed to pass over him. His black eyes, what I could see of them from behind the mask, filled with the memory of some long past terror. He began to cry.”  
“You made him cry? Well done!”  
“Honestly, it is not that hard to make him cry.”  
“What did he say next?” Raoul asked eagerly.   
“He said, ‘I would very much like to see you try, Mlle. Daaé. You would not be the first.’   
I have no doubt that what he said was true. And in turn I was filled with immense pity for him. I had only just learned that he was even mortal and he seemed at that moment uniquely vulnerable. The sight of him, in his mask, in that underground house - it pulled at my heart. Despite that he stood between me and the door; between me and my liberty.   
But then I remembered how I came to be in that dismal place. I realized that, though he was human, he had lost his humanity. He seemed not at all disturbed by my distress. He seemed to have no equal pity for me or any regret for what he had done to me. His tears were all for himself. I regained my anger and again I saw red throbbing in my eyes.   
I spat at him as I said,  
‘Va niquer ta mère! I bet she would even like it! Fils de pute!’  
And finally, I could see that I had truly unsettled him. He seemed to grow larger as he filled with rage. He let out a low growl, barely audible, as a cat might when it has been threatened. And he became quite haughty, lifting his chin a little.   
He said,  
‘FUCK her? She wouldn’t even let me kiss her!’”  
“What the hell?” Raoul exclaimed. “Who takes that literally?”  
The shadow let out a most mournful sigh.  
“Anyway, after calling upon him again _to take off his mask, if he was an honest man, he replied serenely, ‘You shall never see Erik’s face.’ And he reproached me for not having finished dressing at that time of day: he was good enough to tell me that it was two o’clock in the afternoon. He said he would give me half an hour and, while he spoke, he wound up my watch and set it for me. After which, he asked me to come to the dining-room, where a nice lunch was waiting for us. I was very angry, slammed the door in his face and went to the bath-room...When I came out again, feeling greatly refreshed, Erik said that he loved me -_ ”  
“Wait,” Raoul interrupted again. “You took a bath?”  
“Yes.”  
“Why would you take a bath?”  
“Because I needed one.”  
“Weren’t you afraid he would come in?”  
“There was a lock.”  
“But surely you know he had the key.”  
“I took a pair of scissors with me.”  
“Scissors?”  
“That’s not the way I remember it,” the shadow whispered sadly.  
“I have my reasons. Your questions are beginning to annoy me. To continue, after being so rudely interrupted, _Erik said that he loved me, but that he would never tell me so except when I allowed him and that the rest of the time would be devoted to music. ‘What do you mean by the rest of the time?’ I asked. ‘Five days,’ he said, with decision. I asked him if I should then be free and he said, ‘You will be free, Christine, for, when those five days are past, you will have learned not to see me; and then, from time to time you will come to see your poor Erik!’ He pointed to a chair opposite him, at a small table, and I sat, feeling greatly perturbed. However, I ate a few prawns -_ ”  
“Oh, please don’t tell me you ate the PRAWNS!”  
“What is wrong with prawns? I was very hungry and they were very good.”  
“Never eat prawns at a stranger’s house. Especially a stranger who lives underground. Did they make you sick?”  
“If they had planned on making me sick they never got the opportunity. There was so much that came after, I did not have time for a few nicely prepared prawns to make me sick.”  
“So he’s a good cook, is he?”  
She narrowed her eyes and continued,  
“ _I ate a few prawns and the wing of a chicken and drank half a glass of tokay, which he had himself, he told me, brought from the Königsberg cellars._ ”  
“Oh, Christine Daaé! You really are an Opera wench!”  
And the shadow whispered, “The boy is not wrong.”  
“Fuck both of you!”  
“Well, go on. Get to the good part. What was under that mask?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I do not speak French, Italian, or Swedish, but I sure had a lot of fun looking up curse words. If you happen to speak any of these languages and know some quintessential curse that you would like to see in this fic let me know and I would be happy to add to Christine’s litany of abuse. 
> 
> Thanks to catcosair for the tip about the scissors missing from the original English translation. Mr. de Mattos left out all kinds of dark and juicy details.
> 
> Comments are deeply appreciated!


End file.
